


Soft Focus

by Amber



Category: Glee
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes her feel wise, looking at Quinn Fabray and all the mistakes she has yet to make, like looking at her senior prom photo. She'd worn pink. Pink has never really been her colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle X for the prompt "lens".

Quinn Fabray isn't far enough gone to be noticeable, but Terri imagines she can still feel the life beating under her hand when she puts her palm over the girl's flat stomach. "You're gonna have people just grabbing you, all the time, once you start ballooning. So you'd better get used to it."

"Okay." Quinn's mouth twists petulantly, glancing away as Terri rubs her belly.

"Will bought me a cream," she says abruptly, giving Quinn a look that she thinks encompasses both saintly generosity and sisterhood in the face of all men. Quinn looks back, one eyebrow raised. Teenagers. "I don't really need it; I already have plenty of moisturiser. But I thought you might like to rub it in to try and avoid stretch-marks — not that you can really _avoid_ stretch marks, just— soften the blow."

At that, Quinn's hazel eyes go a little wider, a little panicked. Terri remembers what that was like, to think stretch marks would be the worst thing ahead of her, the worst consequence of growing up. She has perspective, now, a lens of perspective and a bathroom cabinet shelf-to-shelf with anti-ageing creams.

"I'll get it for you," Terri chirps, her movements edged and stilted as she reaches for her bag, smile firmly in place. Kendra had said she should get surgery, _like those cehlehhhbrities do_, something to keep her looking joyful with motherhood. Will had suggested she stop taking her medication, just for a little while, just for the baby. For the fricking baby. Terri unscrews the cap of the jar and the scent of lavender fills the room. "Pull your top up, okay?"

Quinn's pert little nose has wrinkled at the flowery smell. "You don't need to do that, Mrs. Schuester. Really, I'm fine."

"Don't be silly, honey, I just want to look after you. You're very precious to me right now, after all."

"Thanks, Mrs. Schuester." Terri can just about hear the eye-roll in the flatness of her voice, like she can't wait for this old lady to be out of her life.

Reluctantly, Quinn pulls her cheerleading uniform up, unzips the side of her skirt and shimmies it half an inch down her hips. Terri can see the underside of her demure white sports bra, the dip of her abdominal muscles and the swell of her hips. Her skin is pale and dewy and so, so smooth. It is the skin a girl can only have at sixteen, and never again.

Terri takes a dollop of cream on two of her fingers and massages it into Quinn's skin. The girl doesn't say anything, though she does gasp a little at the initial cold, and when Terri's perfectly manicured nails dig a little too hard into the unblemished skin, her breath hitches, and she sucks her lower lip into her mouth.

"The hormones must be starting to kick in sometime about now, right?" Terri's hands are slow and steady as they circle, her voice conversational as though this is something she knows about, not just something Kendra's told her. It makes her feel wise, looking at Quinn Fabray and all the mistakes she has yet to make, like looking at her senior prom photo. She'd worn pink. Pink has never really been her colour. "Your boyfriend must be having the time of his life."

"I'm in the chastity club," Quinn says, condescending.

Terri presses the plucked skin under her navel, taps both fingers, unimpressed. "I see that worked out very well for you."

"This was a one-off. An accident. It's not like I want the damn thing." Quinn's voice sounds bored, but there's a dark undercurrent to it, like she might cry. "Lucky for you, I guess."

"Lucky for me," hums Terri. She can feel her fake baby-bump pinching her waist, rubbing raw against the inside of her jeans. She wears it all the time now, after one brush too many with getting caught. Pushes Will away when he tries to touch it, tries to touch her. It makes her feel disfigured. "Yes. I'm glad I found you, Quinn."

Her fingers dip below the waistband of that vivid red skirt, just enough to feel the dent in the skin the elastic of Quinn's panties leaves. Quinn sucks in a breath that's a little noisier than usual, and underneath that queen bitch exterior is the confusion in her eyes, the fear of inadequacy. Her thighs part. It's only a little, but Terri's hand leaves Quinn's stomach and flips her skirt up casually, bringing more thick moisturiser gloop to the firm muscle of Quinn's inner thighs, which tremble slightly at her touch.

Now that Quinn's panties are exposed, Terri can see she's getting wet, darts glances from the small blotch of moisture that grows as the massage goes on, up to where Quinn's mouth has fallen open, red and shiny with lipgloss. She's staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, breathing hard. A few blonde wisps of her bangs are sticking to her temples.

"You shouldn't pull your hair back so tight," Terri informs her, and Quinn's eyes snap to her face, wide like she'd forgotten Terri was there. Terri explains: "It pulls your skin, gives you wrinkles."

Now that she has Quinn's attention, she presses a finger over the wet spot and the girl's hips shift forward, needy. When Terri begins to massage there, the whimper it elicits makes her feel powerful. In control. She drags her fingers up and down until the material is soaked all the way through, moulding itself to the contours of Quinn's slit, then rubs hard and fast circles over the clit.

Quinn spreads her legs wantonly, tries to fuck herself onto Terri's fingers even though the underwear is getting in the way. Her hand comes up to clutch at her own breast, tweak a nipple through the white cotton of her bra until it peaks into stiffness. She makes frustrated noises when she's getting close, all her anger close to the surface and Terri pulls the sopping cloth aside and doesn't even pretend gentleness as she fingers the slick cunt, twisting over Quinn's clit until she shudders and arches and grimaces. There's no noise when she comes beyond a whimper like a dying thing.

Sprawled after, movie-star gorgeous on this twee, floral-pattern couch, Quinn primly averts her eyes and fixes her clothes.

Terri thinks perhaps she should be ashamed — she'd be ashamed for anyone else in her situation — but she doesn't particularly feel anything beyond a hollow sense of victory. She screws the lid back on the jar and goes to wash her hands in the sink, twisting them together like Lady Macbeth.

Just before Terri leaves, she takes a few fifties from her wallet and presses them into Quinn's hands. The girl looks at them as though she's never seen money before. "I know I said I wasn't going to pay for everything, Quinn, honey, but we don't want the baby to come out _deficient_ because you can't afford the right vitamins, now do we?"

"Thanks Mrs. Schuester," says Quinn, and there's no more sneer in her monotone.


End file.
